Let Me Love You
by LuceFray27
Summary: Pansy never had a choice. She does what she's supposed to, because that's what is expected of her. Then Neville walked into her life. Now she faces a decision: stay for duty or leave for love? A wedding day one shot.


**Disclaimer** : I don't own anything in the Harry Potter Universe. It all belongs to the Queen, J.K.

 **A/N:** A long drabble inspired by the gorgeous aesthetic created by Giminia Wow.

 **Let Me Love You**

Letting her bridesmaids leave her alone had been a mistake. Looking at herself in the mirror one last time had been a mistake. Bringing the damn letter had been a _mistake._

Hell, the entire affair had been a mistake.

Or was the wedding the mistake?

Everything was so screwed up now. She'd come to terms with fulfilling her duty—marrying in obligation, spending the rest of her life as nothing more than a society wife.

But then she had to go and meet fucking Longbottom, of all people.

The night Blaise had proposed to her, she'd graciously accepted, showing all the enthusiasm that a proper pureblood witch _should_ show upon being asked to join one of the wealthiest and most powerful families in the wizarding world. Once she'd finally been alone, however, she quietly apparated to the Leaky to drown her sorrows and to say goodbye to her chance at _real_ love.

Which is where she'd met Neville.

He was working behind the bar and they'd ended up talking for hours, about everything and nothing all at once. She didn't think she'd ever felt so alive. He let her stay as he was closing up. He walked with her until the sun began to rise. He owled her the next morning to make sure she was alright.

And somehow one owl turned into two, and three, and drinks, and dinners, and _We really have to stop doing this, Neville,_ and _I wish this could last, Neville,_ and _I love you, Neville,_ and finally, _I'm getting married tomorrow, Neville._

He was the reason she was now looking at her reflection in the mirror, tears sliding down her cheeks. For the first time in her life, she'd found someone who was interested in her for who she was inside, not how she looked, or the political power her name could bring, or the dowry that her family offered.

And she couldn't have him. Because in less than five minutes the music would begin. She would walk down the aisle, effectively banishing any chance at happiness she may have had.

Reaching into her pocket, she fingered the letter that was long ago memorised. It was different from all the other letters he'd sent. It was on black parchment with white ink.

 _I know it wouldn't be what you're accustomed to, but we could be happy, and that's something, right? I can't give you the fanciest life, but I can give you love._

 _Let me love you._

She took a deep breath. And then another. She wiped the corners of her eyes. She smoothed the front of her dress. She straightened the stupid tiara on her head that Lady Zabini had insisted she wear.

"Get your shit together," she said under her breath, giving herself a stern look in the mirror.

She squared her shoulders and turned to find the liquor cabinet she knew was in the room somewhere. The Zabini's had one in every fucking room.

Spotting it quickly, she crossed the floor and opened the cupboard to pour herself a shot, hoping to steady her nerves. To give her just enough to get through the ceremony. To get herself down the aisle.

Of _course_ it had to be a bottle of Dragon Barrel Brandy.

It's what Neville had served her that first night in the bar. The flood of memories that arose were crippling. She'd spent a year and a half falling for the man, and now she had to throw it all away and settle for a loveless marriage to a man who would never treat her as anything more than property.

Rather than pouring a glass, she uncorked the bottle and drank deeply, wincing as it went down.

Looking at the clock on the wall she had three minutes left. So she took another drink. She pulled the letter out, tracing her fingers over his messy script. Lifting the parchment to her nose, she sighed with longing.

Two minutes and she drank again. She folded the parchment up and tucked it back into her pocket. She nervously smoothed her dress. She took a deep breath.

One minute and she put the bottle down, not wanting to think of him any longer. Not wanting to embarrass herself in front of everyone by being drunk at her own wedding.

Thirty seconds and she slipped her hand back inside her pocket, fingering the letter.

Thirty seconds and her life would be over. Thirty seconds until she gave up everything she'd ever dreamed of in order to fulfil a duty she didn't even believe in. Thirty seconds until she obeyed a ruling her parents had made in their favour, not hers. Thirty seconds until she gave up on happiness.

Twenty seconds.

Ten seconds.

When the knock came at the door, she looked up to see her mother walk into the bridal sweet. Her mother, who had lived thirty years in a loveless marriage that she'd made out of duty to her family. Her mother who was pushing her daughter into the same loveless marriage. Her mother, who had never been able to live a life of joy because of a loveless marriage.

Her mother smiled brightly at her. "Are you ready?" she asked, holding out an arm.

"No," she said, shaking her head, eyes wide as she realised what was going to happen. She took her hand out of her pocket, the letter gripped between her fingers.

"No," she repeated before pulling her wand out as well.

"No," she said, one last time, looking her mother in the eye as the familiar pull of apparition tugged behind her navel.

When she landed, she worked to steady herself, cursing that last drink of brandy she'd taken, and clutching the letter to her chest.

"Pansy?"

His voice made her heart momentarily stutter, but she turned toward it, a smile spreading across her face for the first time that day.

She held the letter out, watched the recognition in Neville's eyes as he realised what she was holding.

"Yes," she said.


End file.
